I had some real excitement on that first date. And I don’t mean “excitement” in a good way. I mean that it in the, oh-shit-I’m-about-to-be-really-embarrassed-and-people-will-talk-about-this-for-years-to-come-and-I’ll-never-live-it-down kind of way.
Or I’ll just harbor the embarrassment for 10 years and blog about it when I can finally find it amusing.
The year is 1998, and I had just moved down to the DC area. I didn’t really know a whole lot of people, but I was kinda social and ended up meeting a gal through a co-worker at a happy hour. She was fun. She was attractive. She was interesting. And she apparently really liked tall geeky dudes. Saweeeeeeeeet.
So…. almost exactly 10 years ago I grew a set of balls and asked her out.
I was young and hadn’t really dated a whole lot before, so I was pretty stoked about the whole thing.
Our first date? A movie.
Yes yes yes ok ok yes I know I know, I violated one of my own rules – but I hadn’t created the rules list yet, ok? Get off my back.
So, we meet up at the super classy Centreville Multiplex Cinemas to see “Beloved” – a movie that includes a scene with Oprah Winfrey peeing standing up. Ok ok, maybe not the best 1st date movie, but I think LiLu would approve.
Anyway, so we find our seats, and have a nice little chit-chat beforehand. Since we didn’t have any dinner beforehand, it was a good time to get to know each other a little bit better. It worked out well since the movie started about 30 minutes late, because they apparently forgot to “turn it on.”
But I digress.
So, the lights dim, and we’re sitting there, practically alone in the theater, watching a pretty deep movie about slaves and stuff.
And then it happened.
She touched me.
Apparently this is what happens when you go on a date with someone who likes you. They touch you. In completely inappropriate places. Like on my hand. AND my arm.
Holyshitholyshitholyshit She’s touching me. What do I do? Do I hold her hand? Do I touch her back? Do I just grab her boob now and get it over with? Argh!
So we’re sitting here watching this movie, and I’m internally freaking out because I’m completely clueless. And excited. And nervous.
And I have a huge boner.
Fuck! Go away! Stop it! What are you DOING?? This is NOT a sexy movie! We just saw Oprah Winfrey piss standing up. And it wasn’t a sexy piss either! Argh! She’s gonna think I’m a freak because I’m all hard over Oprah. FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK!
Yeah. I had a HUGE problem. (and yes, I mean huge *wink wink* )
Firstly, here I am on a first date and I’ve popped a major woody. Secondly, I had absolutely no way to hide it. I was wearing a nice flannel shirt, tucked into my acid washed jeans (shut UP, it was 1998 ok???). It was so obvious I could have just hung a flag from it and we could have all said the pledge of allegience to my crotch.
The Star Spangled Crotch
What the hell do I do? I don’t want to let go of her hand or accidentally push her away – I like her! But at the same time, if she sees this, is she going to still like me? Probably not.
I make the executive decision and shift a bit in my seat.
Ooof. Ok. that’s a bit better. You can’t really see it anymore…. but errgh now my leg is starting to go numb. Crap.
So, as you can see, this date is going really well by now.
You may not know this about guys, but when we get….er…. excited, it sets off a chain of events that cannot be stopped. Step 2 of surgation is the release of a small amount of lubricatory liquid. This is unavoidable. In normal circumstances, undergarments are enough of a barrier to keep things on the down-low. But not when your jimmy is straining at your zipper.
I try to subtly blow on my crotchel region. That said, in public it is not possible to subtly blow on your groin and still have it be either 1: subtle or 2: effective.
The spot keeps growing and I start realizing that I’m really in trouble here. At this point, I start to think that I might be better off if I had just crapped my pants instead. Maybe not.
Anyway, let’s recap.
We are an hour into date #1. The girl is touching me completely inappropriately, I have a stiffy the size of the Washington Memorial, and keeping with the DC theme, an appropriately placed “tidal basin.” Did I mention that I had completely lost feeling in my left leg about 20 minutes earlier?
I figured I had three choices at this point.
- Fake death. If I just slump over and die, maybe she would just get up and leave. Or when she called 911 and the ambulances comes, I can just explain the wet-spot away as a side-effect from the massive heart attack I apparently had.
- Crawl to the bathroom and try to fix things. Have you ever seen a movie theater floor though?? Yeah, this one was out immediately.
- Hope God hears my pleas for help and things clear up before the lights come back up.
Being the optimist I am, I vote for #3.
Another hour goes by, and things don’t get any better. I try to shift around in my seat, but nothing works. The wet-spot has subsided a bit, but in its stead, I now have a nasty looking stain. And both of my legs have fallen asleep.
Hello God, it’s me ToBlogOr. Why do you only help that Margaret chick? This isn’t FUNNY ANYMORE.
The movie ends.
[Insert continuous stream of expletives]
I convince her to stay and watch the credits with me… because I really want to know who the assistant 2nd grip is. Plus, hopefully the extra time will help me formulate a real plan. A plan that will help me get out of this situation with at least a shred of dignity. A plan that involves never having to stand up ever again.
We sit…. we wait…… she keeps petting my arm….. I keep sweating….. and bulging….
The credits are winding down, and I’m running out of excuses as to why we have to stay….
Marty Elfalan …. assistant accountant
Pablo Ferro …. title designer: main title sequence
Peg Flynn …. office and stage production assistant
Elena Gavrilova …. assistant: Rachel Portman
Bob George …. invaluable assistance
Invaluable assistance. heh heh Nice title buddy. Hmmm… actually. I could really use some invaluable assistance right now….
And then I saw a bright light…
God? Is that you? Are you coming to save me? Bob George??????
But no, it was just the theater lights coming back on, and I was on my own.
My date stands up, and I am royally fuck-a-doo’ed.
I start to stand up…. and I do the only thing that came to my head….
I start humping her leg.
I try to nonchalantly un-tuck my shirt. It’s a bit awkward, but it gets the job done. Sort of.
Of course, at this point, she doesn’t really care about my crotch. Why? Because both my legs are completely asleep and I have to lean on her for support as we limp out of the movie theater.
Maybe Bob George really did have a plan, since she just ended up thinking I was cute with my whole invalid act… and she agreed to go out with me again
Of course, our 2nd date involved seeing “What Dreams May Come” which is about a guy who dies, and his wife commits suicide…
That’s a story for another day…
And another set of underwear.